


Little Wars

by Foxtail-chan (TheTinyFoxtail)



Category: Magi - Fandom, Magi: The Kingdom of Magic, Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Anti-friendship, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Ideal Woman, Love/Hate, One-Shot, Romance, fight, spat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTinyFoxtail/pseuds/Foxtail-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was engaged in little wars with her every single day. Wars it seemed he could never win. She was entertaining though, which made it all worthwhile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Wars

**Author's Note:**

> I love Yamuraiha and Sharrkan together. So cute. I hope I don't kill their relationship too much. XD  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :D

War. He'd been in his fair share of wars, he'd fought his fair share of opponents, been on his fair share of battlefields, but none of them, _none_ , had prepared him for her.

He'd been in a few of those bloody battles called 'war'. He was rather indifferent toward them, unlike others. Sindria was simply so peaceful that a conflict in a small battle here or a foreign war there was just what he needed to change things up. He'd win. He always won. He'd gotten used to always winning, which was what made her little wars so different.

Her wars were not with swords, unfortunately. Hell, they weren't even with her magic, but words and looks and huffs instead. They had their little wars every single day, when they'd yell at each other, grab a fistful of the other's hair, and try to come up with that one insult that could top the other's. He wasn't used to wars like that. He also wasn't used to losing.

He didn't lose against her, of course not, she was an imbecile who used sideshow tricks, he was an accomplished swordsman, but… he couldn't exactly say he _won_ their fights, either. They just yelled and hit like two-year-olds and neither one of them really won anything, instead both of them coming out of the experience with nothing more than dirty clothing and mussed hair.

He just couldn't win against her. Maybe it was because she was just so illogical, maybe it was because she just never gave up, maybe it was because they rarely engaged in full-on physical combat, but any way he looked at it, he just couldn't win against her.

He'd been a pouty mess, as Sinbad called it, when he'd first gotten into those silly conflicts with her. He'd stomp around like a child and mutter to himself, taking out his anger on trees or rocks or really whatever was in his path. He was not used to not winning. He didn't like it.

Then he graduated into thinking that if he ignored her, she and their fights and his non-wins didn't exist. If he simply turned his nose up into the air, crossing his arms and thinking about anyone but her after their fights, his non-wins simply weren't there. Yes, if he ignored them, they didn't exist.

He'd eventually graduated from that phase too when he saw her gloating over him. Whenever he'd ignore her, she took it as a win for herself, and he would _not_ have _any_ of that.

And so, he reverted back to pouting after their fights. They'd fight, they'd brag, they'd make fools of themselves, they'd annoy others around them, and then they'd 'hmph' and stalk away. He'd pout and fume to himself and she'd… he didn't know what she did, but he figured it was something similar. She was probably plotting against him or something; that seemed like something she would do.

They'd known each other for years and not a single thing had changed. When they first met, they fought, when they knew each other inside and out, they fought. It was just an unspoken rule.

And so when she left, on a trip to her homeland… he felt… odd.

At first, when he'd exaggeratedly waved to her boat, he'd been brimming with excitement. For the first time in what… years?… she was gone. He could walk around with his swords and flaunt his skills without her huffs and eyerolls. He would own this town.

And so he did. He strutted around like a show pony through the streets of the city, waving to townspeople and playing with children. He was so happy she and her snide comments were gone that he didn't know what to do with himself. He could finally convince everyone that the tactical and practical sword was so much better than that flouncy magic. Stupid magic. It was so stupid.

Others didn't seem to be amused by his new-found energy. Masrur seemed to look even more disapproving than usual, Ja'far nearly attacked him when he'd swung a sword in Sinbad's face and laughed like a king, telling him that Sinbad's entire country would be full of swordsman before Tuesday, and Alibaba and Aladdin had somehow become his go-to audience for swordsmanship lessons; they still clapped at the end of each one but they really didn't look too awfully interested anymore.

At first, he'd been so excited he could barely handle it, but after that one week mark rolled around, he found himself lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, a new feeling plaguing him: boredom. Man, he was bored. He had… nothing to do. He stared harder at the wooden slats above his bed, his teeth clenching.

Without her around to constantly plot against, constantly fight with, and to keep his thoughts on all of the time, he was absolutely mindlessly bored. He had things to do, yeah. He could probably practice, he could probably talk with the Generals, he could eat, he could sleep, but nothing sounded too awfully interesting.

He didn't feel motivated to do anything, simply because he didn't see the point if he wasn't trying to upstage _her_. He was the best swordsman this side of the equator; everyone knew it, so there was simply no one to practice for, no one to prove something to, no one to _do_ anything with.

He trained Alibaba sometimes, but the boy was getting pretty adept on his own and it wasn't too awfully interesting anymore. And so he resorted to the last pastime that he had that didn't involve her: women.

He spent night after night, even some days, with those women that he could have company with for money. They loved him; they always had. They didn't tease him or yell at him or tell him how stupid swords were. They giggled over everything he said, they hung on him like jewelry, and they fawned over his swords. They were the ideal women.

Ideal women. Huh. He'd never really thought about that before. Yeah, the ideal woman he guessed would like everything about him. She'd act just like those girls did… but as he sat there, those girls that he called 'ideal' groping and whining at him, his own thoughts didn't seem convincing.

The ideal woman would love everything about him… that sounded… quite frankly boring. Having someone always agreeing with him, always loving every inch of him, never giving him any sort of _challenge_ , sounded mind-numbingly boring.

Challenging. Yes, that's what she was. There, he finally had a word for her. She was a challenge, and he liked challenges. He'd always overcome them. Every single challenge in his life that he'd faced, he'd overcome. It was a source of pride for him: always surmounting those challenges. She was a challenge that he'd yet to conquer; maybe that was why she was so interesting.

She was a challenge and she gave him little wars every single day that he could never win. She was entertaining, he guessed. He'd never felt boredom the likes of what he felt when she was gone so he supposed he didn't… mind her little wars and challenges. He didn't like them… but he didn't mind them either. They were something to do. She was someone to surpass. She was… entertaining. Yes, he'd call her that.

He bit on his lip, his eyes clouded and his mind miles away as the girls continued to dote on him.

But was Yamuraiha really just that?

His brain froze, his eyes widening as he quickly shook his head. Yes, that was all she was. She was just entertaining, she was just a challenge, she just provided something to do, that was all. She wasn't that ideal woman. Maybe that ideal woman didn't always agree with him, but that ideal woman also wouldn't yell at him more than she didn't. She just wasn't cut out for that, but man… she really was entertaining.

He couldn't believe it, but the day her boat came back, he was the first one on the dock. He'd never dreamed of it, let alone the smile that was on his face, but it was somehow there. He was standing on that dock, smiling and waving down the boat because if she was back, that meant his challenge was back.

As the boat slowly coasted into the port he spotted her on the deck, her eyebrows pinched together as she stared incredulously down at him. She stared, as if she simply couldn't believe what she was seeing. The boat creaked and groaned painfully, shivering to a stop. The crew bustled about, lowering the platform down to the dock, passengers crowding their way down.

He waved to her again as she began her descent, as if she hadn't seen him wave the first time. She walked with wobbly legs, staring, looking a tad accusatory as she made her way over to him.

She stopped in front of him, frowning before jabbing a finger up toward his face. "What's that?" she snapped.

"Eh?" He lowered his waving hand and stared down at her. What was she pointing at? "A smile?" he asked.

She squinted one eye at him. "Why are you smiling…?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh what, am I not allowed to smile now?"

She frowned deeper, slowly lowering her finger and adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "No…I've just never seen you smile at me before…," she said, still squinting up at him. "I mean, in a non-smirky kind of way," she clarified.

He shook his head and held a hand out toward her. "Man, you'd think I was a real grouch or something," he grinned. "Here," he said, wiggling his fingers and asking for her bag.

Her eyes that were nearly slits fluttered open wide into shock. "What?!" she screeched, quickly back-stepping away from him and shoving her bag behind her back.

"Your bag," he said. "I'll carry it."

Her wide eyes turned small again. He could tell she just had no idea what to think of him. He was being a tad polite to her, something he'd never done before. He figured it was because he'd… missed her. Not her as in Yamuraiha but her as in his little sparring partner, he guessed. He was glad she was back, even though it felt absolutely wrong to think that.

"What are you going to do to it?!" she asked, shaking another finger at him. "You're up to something; I just know it."

He sighed. "Fine, fine, whatever you can carry it," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Just tryin' to be nice, but that wouldn't be appreciated by the likes of you," he grinned, giving her a wink before turning on his heel to begin walking back into the city.

"Hey!" she yelled after him, offended. He heard her heels click-clacking on the stone behind him as she furiously stomped to catch up. "Hey!" she called again when he didn't turn around.

He waved a hand at her. "C'mon, if you can carry your own bag you can keep up with me-OOF!" Something very heavy and very hard came into contact with the back of his head and he went careening forward, stumbling and desperately reaching for a nearby fruit cart to help him. He missed, falling flat on his face on the cobblestone with another 'oof' his limbs spread out like a starfish.

There were whispers amongst the townspeople. They seemed worried, but no one reached out to help him. They all whispered things like _"Isn't that Sharrkan? One of the eight generals?"_ and seemed to be very hesitant to give him a hand. Maybe they thought they'd step on his pride even more than it'd been squashed already, falling flat in the middle of a street like a dufus.

He groaned, peeling his face off of the stone and glaring back over his shoulder. She was standing there, grinning smugly and twirling the strap of her bag over her fingers. "You said you wanted to carry my bag," she replied, feigning innocence and tossing her sack onto his back.

He growled. Dammit. Not only was that bag freakishly heavy –what did she have in there? Bricks?- but he'd actually been being nice to her for once in his entire life, and this was how she repaid him. Figured. She was that stupid challenge and that stupid war that he could just not win; he shouldn't have been so naïve as to think that they could brush over it for one day.

He scrambled to his feet, kicking her bag to the side and stomping over to her. He was taller than her, and he intended her to know it as he stood uncomfortably close, trying to make himself look as large as possible. "Oy," he snapped, "No wonder you can't get a boyfriend. You don't even know how common curtesy works."

Her eye twitched. "I wouldn't have been so suspicious if _you_ weren't so suspicious!" she yelled. "Carry my bag? What the hell! You've never said anything like that before. Can you really blame me for not believing you?"

"You can't give anyone the benefit of the doubt."

"Why should I? Especially you. You would've probably weeded through it, looking for something embarrassing!"

"What, do you keep embarrassing things in your bag?" he grinned, slowly creeping back over toward where he'd kicked the satchel.

"No!" she shouted. "I don't keep embarrassing things in my bag but knowing you you'd probably… I don't know! You'd probably slip something in there and pretend it was mine you thick-headed idiot!" she yelled, her face flushing red.

He wasn't entirely sure why she was so flustered, but it was entertaining. There we go, he wasn't bored anymore. She was doing her job and giving him that entertainment he needed. "Well if I'm a thick-headed idiot you must be a mush-brained loser," he countered. "What with all the water you use you're probably nothing but steam… or hot air… I should've said hot air that would've been better," he chuckled to himself.

"Arrggh!" she fumed, her hands clenching into fists. "Again with the magic?!" She stomped over toward him, haphazardly picking up her bag and swinging it back over her shoulder. "Water may be my specialty but that doesn't mean I've gone soft!" she yelled.

He snorted. "Oh, but your comebacks have."

Her eye twitched unmercifully. "Stupid toy soldier," she spat.

"Beluga Whale."

"Primitive bastard!"

"Flashy fish."

"Savage!"

"Weakling."

By now their faces were nearly smashed together, as usual, and she seemed to have lost her comebacks. Usually he would've been just as into it as she was, losing his cool and shouting very childish things, but this time… it was different. He was calm, amused even, as he stared into her bright blue eyes now sparkling with life and maybe a little bit of rage.

She seemed to be even more flustered now that he wasn't losing it. He figured she'd never seen him stay calm during a fight, and she was absolutely thrown off. She sputtered incoherently, her mouth opening and closing stupidly and her teeth grinding together.

He smirked as he spotted the beginnings of a flustered blush forming on her cheeks. He stared into her eyes for just a moment longer, trying desperately to take in the scene in front of him. She was entertaining. That look in her eyes… made him remember the conversation he'd had with himself about the ideal woman. That look on her face mimicked what he'd love to see her look like every day. She was flustered, cute even. She wasn't ideal for him, but she was… her, which had grown on him immensely while she'd been gone.

He blinked, ridding his brain of the thoughts before blowing a puff of air into her face and straightening. "C'mon," he chuckled, waving a hand at her as he turned and walked toward the center of town, grinning madly to himself as he heard her huffing and puffing and muttering angrily to herself behind him.


End file.
